


Shore Leave

by elizabethgee



Category: Pilgrimage (2017)
Genre: David has a past, Diarmuid wears a pretty dress, Fluff, M/M, Rua and Cathal are an effective disaster team, Sappy, Smut, botanist Diarmuid, engineer David, largely based on the star trek universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:55:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28351257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizabethgee/pseuds/elizabethgee
Summary: Fill for Secret Santa 2020! Based on yakman's prompt: Space Monks.David returns to Earth from a long deployment on the USS Kilmanaan, eager to reconnect with his boyfriend.
Relationships: Brother Diarmuid/The Mute
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19
Collections: Diarmute Secret Santa 2020





	Shore Leave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yakman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yakman/gifts).



His palms are sweating. It’s been nearly a year since he’s been on Earth, and he finds himself hurrying through the International Space Station with his crewmates to try and beat the rush onto an Earth Transport Vehicle. He loves his job— truly— being an engineer on the USS Kilmanaan gives him a sense of purpose. It’s something he never thought he’d find after…well.

There’s no use thinking about that. Not when his future is so much brighter than his past.

“Relax,” Cathal demands, nudging David’s jittering knee as they strap themselves into the cramped transport vehicle seats. David grimaces at his transparency, but Cathal just pulls out his pad to continue reading his book about 20th century farming. The deep furrow in David’s brow smoothes out at the sight. He knows that he can be difficult to get along with, but several of his cremates have become…friends…over the past 10 months. Cathal is probably the person he has become closest to. Cathal and Rua— a pair of science officers who manage to get into a lot of trouble for scientists aboard a starship.

They frequently drag David into their antics, yet somehow come out unscathed; no matter how wild the situation ends up being. While he’s sad to say goodbye to them for the next month, he’s grateful to have the time away. Being with the same people on a crowded starship for nearly a year is…draining.

“Diarmuid will be waiting for you, like he always is,” Cathal assures him, not looking up from the illuminated screen. Cathal is one of the few people aboard who doesn’t seem bothered by David’s silence. They had struck up an odd companionship after Cathal had meticulously outlined all the benefits of bringing an engineer (and specifically David) on new planet exploration teams, citing various situations in which he could have been useful in past excursions. It was enough to convince the ship’s captain, and David had started a whole new job that he had never anticipated.

Diarmuid had been worried when David told him about his expanding role above the USS Kilmanaan. David hadn’t had training for new planet exploration— he’s just an engineer. But when David explained his concern, Diarmuid immediately jumped on the offensive.

“You are not _just_ an engineer, David. You’re incredibly intelligent, and you’re great at solving problems creatively, and you see things that others _don’t_ —“

David’s chest burned at the praise, as it always has since he met Diarmuid. The man just won’t stop _complimenting_ him—

“And all the places you’ll see! The life forms you’ll meet! It’s a fantastic opportunity, David,” Diarmuid had gushed, anxiety and pride battling in his gaze through the subspace communicator. The burning embarrassment in his chest faded to longing. If only he could reach through the screen to Earth to hug his boyfriend…how he missed brushing his fingers through Diarmuid’s soft, warm curls.

_Soon_ , he thinks, staring out the transport vehicle window. Stars expand ever outward, and the blue of Earth has never looked more inviting.

“David!”

His heart swells at the sound of his name and his eager gaze finds Diarmuid easily amongst the crowd.

He’s more beautiful than ever—shiny brown curls dancing with the chill San Francisco wind, one neatly gloved hand holding his shallow brimmed sailor hat to his head while the other waves for his attention.

He’s wearing a new dress— a soft off white garment with a delicate red floral pattern to match the maroon and beige bows on his hat. The hem brushes his calves, fluttering in the breeze as Diarmuid bounces back and forth on his feet. But it’s Diarmuid’s familiar, vibrant smile that quenches the aching that’s taken up residence in his chest over the past several months.

David doesn’t remember walking along the pier. He doesn’t remember parting ways with Cathal. He doesn’t remember anything until he’s suddenly enveloped in Diarmuid’s arms.

_Home._

The familiar smell of his cologne— spicy and warm and woodsy—loosens the tightly leashed pain in his chest and he makes a sound, wounded. He tries to cover it by squeezing Diarmuid to him, burying his face in the shorter man’s neck and inhaling. Diarmuid’s easy laughter fills the air and David has to kiss him, _now_ —

“I missed you,” Diarmuid mumbles against David’s lips, gloved hands cupping the back of David’s neck and holding him close. He shivers and hums an affirmative sound against Diarmuid’s soft, warm lips.

He would spend the next month right here, in this moment, if it were possible. The world melts away and it’s just the two of them— Diarmuid’s fingers curling into his hair, the soft give of his lips as David grips his chin and tilts his head just so—

A loud wolf whistle cracks through the air and David pulls away, embarrassed flush heating his cheeks.

Diarmuid smiles sheepishly and curls their fingers together— and oh how David missed holding Diarmuid’s hands in his—

“Let’s go home,” Diarmuid says.

Relief floods him at the sight of Diarmuid’s small apartment. He spent so much time here in his last two years of training at Starfleet. David was in his third year at the academy when he met Diarmuid. Diarmuid was a first year academy student— fresh out of college and “wanting to make a difference” by signing up to join Starfleet. David was a washed up carpenter who was down on his luck and signed up for Starfleet out of a desperate desire for purpose and a regular meal. He was completely baffled when they started dating. How could someone like Diarmuid want to spend time with someone like David— let along invite David into his _bed_? It’s something he continues to ask himself every day.

The way he feels, stepping back into Diarmuid’s one room apartment next to the academy… it’s like stepping into his happiest memory. It looks much the same as it did 10 months ago. There’s a narrow bed piled high with plush blankets beneath an airy window with a wide view of the city. Small potted plants are dotted all over the apartment (both a product of Diarmuid’s love for anything living and green and as a result of his study as a botanist). The book-lined shelf above Diarmuid’s desk is crowded with more books than it was a year ago, but the framed photos of him and his father, Ciaran, are still scattered over every surface. David can’t help the way his eyes dart to the one photo carefully placed on the windowsill above Diarmuid’s pillow. It’s a photo of the two of them on their one year anniversary at their favorite Japanese restaurant— Diarmuid sitting in David’s lap after one too many sakis, David’s arm wrapped tight around his waist to keep him steady.

There are new things as well. The bright red kettle sitting on his tiny stove, the new magnets and photos on the fridge, a bright blue jacket laying across his desk chair.

Strong arms slide around his waist and Diarmuid presses his forehead against David’s back.

“Welcome home,” he says, and David feels Diarmuid smile against his spine.

“Are you okay,” Diarmuid asks, fingers pressing into David’s chest above his heart.

David nods, knowing Diarmuid will feel the movement. They stand there for a long time, not moving, fossilizing the moment between them.

A loud, deep grumble from David’s stomach ruins the moment and Diarmuid laughs, loud and joyful, against his back.

“Dinner,” Diarmuid demands, stepping around David.

Before he can stop himself, he reaches out and wraps his fingers around Diarmuid’s wrist, tugging to get his attention.

“Hmm?”

David jerks his chin towards Diarmuid’s dress, raising an amused eyebrow.

“Do you like my new outfit,” Diarmuid asks, soft pink flushing his cheeks. His fingers curl into the skirt and he does a spin— the field of red flowers dancing around him.

“I got it especially for today—“

David crowds into Diarmuid’s space and kisses him, desperation finally catching up with him after being suppressed for so long.

Diarmuid hums in appreciation, letting his mouth fall open in easy supplication.

A wave of heavy longing washes over David and he slides his hands down to Diarmuid’s thighs.

Diarmuid yelps as David picks him up, walking him towards Diarmuid’s bed and lowering him down softly.

Diarmuid’s eager hands go to the straps of his dress, intending to be rid of the garment, but David stops him, taking his hands in David’s larger ones and pressing kisses to his gloved knuckles.

Diarmuid’s cheeks are flushed bright red now and his pretty lips part with stuttering breaths. David stares down at him, awed. How did he get so lucky?

_I missed you_ , David signs, watching Diarmuid’s warm eyes track the movement.

“I missed you too, David,” Diarmuid says, “so much. It was so lonely here, without you.”

He glances around his small apartment, brows drawing down as his gaze moves far away from the present.

_No._ David won’t have that.

He kneels on the bed between Diarmuid’s ankles and taps as his strong calves, redirecting his attention.

_I’m here now,_ he signs. _Stay here with me._

Diarmuid nods, a mischievous grin smoothing his brow as David runs his hands along Diarmuid’s calves, up to the hem of his dress, brushing his fingertips along the fabric. It’s so delicate he can barely feel it beneath his fingers.

Diarmuid breathes his name, fisting his hands in the blankets and tilting his head back, looking up at David through dark lashes.

Gut punched, David slowly runs his hands up Diarmuid’s calves, fingers sliding through the sparse hair, ghosting along his skin and gathering the material of his dress up, up, up…

“What—“

David silences him by leaning down and pressing their lips together, licking into him and humming in pleasure. Diarmuid squirms beneath him as David’s hands grip the meat of his thighs, holding him steady.

He slides his mouth down, kissing against Diarmuid’s flushing neck and rolling their hips together, feeling Diarmuid’s body respond quickly and easily to his attention.

He thinks about all the long, lonely nights aboard the Kilmanaan— all the fantasies he hoarded to himself— and makes a decision.

He presses one more kiss to Diarmuid’s chin, then slides down the bed, hiking Diarmuid’s dress up.

“David—“

David spreads Diarmuid thighs easily, making room for his broad shoulders, and carefully pulls down the front of Diarmuid’s underwear, pleased to find Diarmuid already hard and leaking against his belly.

He takes Diarmuid’s hands and presses them against the gathered fluff of his dress, giving him a significant look.

Diarmuid understands easily, as always, and fists his hands in the material, holding it up out of the way over his hips.

He’s a vision, laying on his bed, shivering with arousal and waiting for David. The sight tugs a growl from his throat and he wraps one hand around the shaft of Diarmuid’s pretty erection and presses his lips to the head in a soft kiss.

Diarmuid whines, precum slipping from his erection. David lets his tongue slip out, draggng over the slit and taking in the bitter taste of him. He had missed this— pouring all of his attention into Diarmuid, giving him whatever he wants—

“Daviiiid,” Diarmuid complains, squirming beneath him. David hums, slipping his mouth over the head and stilling, holding Diarmuid steady against his tongue.

Diarmuid’s fingers twist in his dress, flowers distorting and straining as he tries to stay still.

David waits, saliva gathering in his mouth, aching to rub his tongue along the shaft—

“David, please don’t tease me right now— I’ve _missed_ you—“

The plea makes David groan against the thick weight in his mouth and Diarmuid gasps, hips jerking up, the taste of more pre-cum blooming in David’s mouth.

He gives in and sucks, relishing Diarmuid’s resultant yelp and the throb of his erection in David’s mouth.

Diarmuid babbles out pleas, fingers releasing the fabric of his dress as he tears off his gloves and tangles his bare fingers into David’s curls, just holding him as David sucks slowly at Diarmuid’s dick.

He rolls his own hips into the bed, his own desire demanding attention.

“Yes,” Diarmuid mumbles, noticing the movement and pressing a hand against David’s shoulder in encouragement.

“Yes, yes, please, David—“

He folds, as he always does, and gives Diarmuid what he wants— cupping his balls with one hand and hollowing his cheeks around Diarmuid, encouraging him to roll his hips up into David’s mouth even as David ruts against the mattress.

With one long, loud whine of David’s name Diarmuid spills between his lips and David swallows easily, groaning in surprise as he quickly follows Diarmuid over the edge, spilling in his uniform.

He keeps sucking until Diarmuid starts to tug at his curls, oversensitive. Diarmuid’s pleased, flushed features make David’s chest warm and he crawls up the bed, pulling Diarmuid close and pillowing the younger man’s head on his chest. They breath heavily, adrenaline pounding through their bodies—

David’s stomach lets out a loud, low growl.

Diarmuid’s bright laugh jolts through the air and he brushes a sweaty palm against David’s side.

“ _Now_ can we order food?”

Diarmuid insists on showering while they wait for their food to arrive. Steam creeps under the bathroom door and David can hear his boyfriend singing quietly to himself. He watches the city lights slowly flicker on as rain starts to spatter against the window.

 _There’s going to be a storm tonight_ , Diarmuid had said, stretching against David’s belly before getting up and heading towards the shower. His clever fingers had started working at the buttons along the back of his dress as he walked, exposing more and more skin before disappearing behind the bathroom door, tossing a knowing smirk in David’s direction. He’s going to have to get Diarmuid to wear that dress again so that David can take it off of him properly—

A knock interrupts David’s planning and he hurries to collect their food. With a soft tap against the bathroom door to notify Diarmuid of their food’s arrival, he quickly starts setting their feast up along Diarmuid’s tiny coffee table. They had ordered way too much from that same Japanese restaurant that they went to for their first anniversary— including a huge container of miso soup, an assortment of house specialty rolls, a double portion of udon, and a large basket of vegetable tempura.

He shifts several books to make more room for food. Something new makes him pause. It’s a thick green book— no, an album— placed very carefully in the center of the table. The cover is blank, and the pages bulge as though padded by something.

Curiosity floods him, but he won’t touch anything that Diarmuid hasn’t given him permission to touch. Diarmuid always laughs off his concern, telling him:

“Everything in here is yours as well— including me.”

But David doesn’t want to invade— he knows the value of privacy and consent. So he’ll wait.

His curiosity evaporates as Diarmuid appears from the bathing room, bringing a cloud of steam with him from behind the door. David immediately wants to muss him up again. His skin is warm and glowing, damp curls frame his face, and he’s wearing…

 _Those are new too_ , David signs, gesturing to his pajamas.

Shower flushed cheeks brighten even more and Diarmuid tugs at the hem of his pink shorts, absolutely not covering anything up. His matching top is cropped short, showing a hint of the skin at his waist.

“I may have gone overboard with buying new clothes while waiting for you to come home,” he admits.

David crooks an eyebrow at him, smirking.

“Later,” Diarmuid promises, plopping down on the sofa and grabbing a hot slice of deep fried sweet potato, humming happily at the taste and gesturing for David to join him. He drops down next to Diarmuid and snags a bowl of miso, smiling back as Diarmuid leans against his shoulder.

David can’t think of a better reception— tangled together in their warm home, eating take out and listening to the pattering of rain against the window. They manage to get through a surprisingly large portion of the food, and Diarmuid mumbles something about using up a lot of energy earlier, giggling when David leans over and presses lingering kisses against his neck.

At some point they end up lounging against the sofa, bellies full and warm, and David clears his throat to get Diarmuid’s attention.

He gestures to the green album, and to his immense curiosity Diarmuid gives him a sheepish look.

“Open it,” he suggests, shifting to lay with his back to David’s chest.

Now feeling somewhat wary, David snags the album and holds it in front of Diarmuid so they can both see it. He slides the first few pages open and his heart stutters.

The album is full of David’s sketches— printed out from all of his communications throughout the past several months. David flips through, awed, seeing all his drawings— from detailed sketches of crewmembers to comical doodles of the tribble infestation they had 3 months previous. There are hasty drawings of new landscapes (the famous Cardassian sunrise in vibrant orange and purple and blue) and creatures and plants he sketched from memory after their trips to various planets (Denobula lemurs, Orion salmanders, carnivorous Tellarite flowers, and an odd little red shrub from Ferengi that walks on it’s root system).

“I just wanted to have a physical thing to look at,” Diarmuid mumbles, fingers jumping up to touch the sketch of a small Andorian lynx.

“And to touch. It felt closer to you, somehow.”

A sticky, painful lump lodges in David’s throat as he watches Diarmuid’s finger trace along the cat-like creatures antennae. He presses his lips to the back of Diarmuid’s head, breathing in the smell of his shampoo and wishing he had the words to say how much he loves Diarmuid— how much he misses him while David’s away—

Diarmuid takes the album, dropping it onto the coffee table and wriggling in his grasp, turning around and laying his cheek against David’s bare chest. His fingers shift to run along the deep scarring on David’s pectorals.

The scars used to ache horribly, but with Diarmuid’s constant, unflinching touch the pain has lessened. He still dissociates sometimes, but that’s usually when specific scars receive a bit too much attention. But he is getting better, and it’s in large part down to Diarmuid’s patient, loving acceptance. His breathing starts to go tight and he taps at Diarmuid’s chin to get his attention.

“Hmm,” Diarmuid asks, voice rumbling against David’s chest.

 _When is graduation_ , David asks.

“Next Friday,” Diarmuid says, then a deep, gleeful deviousness blooms in his gaze and he squirms, struggling to hide a smile.

 _What_ , David asks, unable to stop the smile that tugs at his own mouth. Diarmuid’s happiness is infectious.

“I was going to keep it a surprise,” Diarmuid says, sliding off the sofa and hurrying to his desk.

David’s heart clenches and he tells himself not to get his hopes up…

“But,” Diarmuid sifts through several papers, snagging one and pinching it between his fingers.

“Here,” Diarmuid says, shoving the paper at David.

David sits up and takes the paper, feeling as though he’s standing on a precipice. Diarmuid slides onto the sofa to kneel behind David, wrapping his arms around David’s shoulders and pressing a kiss into his jaw.

“Read it,” Diarmuid urges.

David’s throat closes and he unfolds the paper with trembling fingers.

_Oh._

Heat builds behind David’s eyes and he lets out a soft huff, disbelief fluttering in his ribcage.

“I got my assignment early,” Diarmuid murmurs into David’s ear, voice trembling with emotion.

David gapes at the letter.

“I’m assigned to the Kilmanaan. Asisstant botanist—”

David twists in Diarmuid’s arms, smiling against Diarmuid’s laughing lips. Joy is too heavy in his chest and he shivers despite the warmth of their home, amazed by his luck. He never thought this would happen. They’ll be on the same ship…exploring the universe together…

They stay up long into the night, talking with their fingers and listening to the rain patter against their cocoon, planning and fantasizing about everything the future holds.


End file.
